


Peridot

by girlofthearts



Series: Accidentally hitting an s/o [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Dark Spain (Hetalia), Domestic Violence, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, F/M, Reader-Insert, Slice of Life, Spain/Reader - Freeform, Whump, reader - Freeform, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:05:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5432462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlofthearts/pseuds/girlofthearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a fluffy slice of life gone wrong, Antonio loses his temper in the worst way. A Spain/ Reader ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peridot

The low hum of the air conditioner rattled through the kitchen. Its place in the window blocked some of the ambient light on your side, shading your eyes from the brilliant eastern sun. The same could not be said of your tablemate’s view, as he squinted his eyes to make out the words of the gardening article.

A muted cheer rang from the living room, the game announcers shouting in indeterminate Spanish.

             Your fingers idly traced the edge of the tablecloth, eyes honed in on your prey. Your bare feet shifted against the tile.

             “Hey,” You stated.

No response. He titled his head in concentration to the words at hand, lifting his cup blindly. You pursed your lips.

             “Hey. Antonio.”

The cup had found its way to his mouth, and he made a questioning noise around the lip.

             “Are you going to eat that?”

             “Did you say something?” He asked, still engrossed.

             “The empanada. On your plate. Can I have it?”

Green eyes darted to the plate on his right. The golden pastry looked lonely on the brilliantly glazed ceramic.

A bird swooped across the windows, casting disorienting shadows across the cozy room.

             “Oh. Oh, if you want it, you can have it,” He said finally. He passed the plate across to you, but paused with his hand in the air, “How much do you want it?”

You shot him a flat look. One doesn’t joke about empanadas. “Hand over the pastry, and no one gets hurt.”

             “Forgive me, officer. Here, a peace offering.” He smiled, amusement curling across his face.

You happily snatched the plate from his grasp. You dramatically twirled the fork before piercing the crust. Fragrant steam caught in the sunlight.

             “I think that you should bring me another coffee,” He stated, “As a gesture of goodwill.”

A pout crossed your face.

             “It would be a wonderful gesture.” He tried again, looking hopeful.

              “Fine,” You sighed, “I’ll need to make another pot.” The cute jerk.

             “I will be waiting right here, I promise.” He grinned at you. You bit back a smile.

             Your chair scraped against the tile as you pushed away from the table. The coffee grinder was alongside the stove. The little drawer held some of the aromatic grounds from the previous pot, but it wouldn’t be enough.

             The crunch of the little grinder filled the kitchen, your fingers wrapped around the crank.

             “There is a misprint in this,” Antonio mused, “That type of lettuce doesn’t need as much sun as they claim.”

Task finished, you filled the pot and left it to boil, “Mm. Probably just a mistake. Are you still going out tonight?”

Your thumb smoothed over the grainy texture of grout sealing the counter tiles.

             “I said I was,” He idly licked his thumb and turned the page, “but yes. I do not expect to be home tonight, so there is no need to wait up.”

“Are you taking a cab?”

“Sí, back to Francis’s place. I can’t imagine Gilbert’s brother would appreciate us staying with him.”

You laughed. “No, I guess not.”

“Francis lives alone, so we won’t bother anyone there.”

You went to grab his cup. Antonio had glanced up at your movement and caught your hand, placing a lingering kiss on the palm. His eyes gleamed with affection.

You smiled and shook your head, gripping the cup with your other hand. His thumb caressed your wrist as he released you.

“We need a new tablecloth.”

“Really? What’s wrong with this one?” He asked.

“Did you miss the weird pink splotch on the right hand side?” The little potted fern was placed nearly centered on the stain

“Is that where you spilt that glass of wine last week?”

“Maybe,” Your embarrassment bled through your voice, “I really thought I could get it out in the wash.” You idly tapped your toe against the floor, leaning against the edge of the counter top. 

“Blue would look nice in here, I think.” He had his chin propped up on his arm, looking consideringly at the color of the walls.

“Or even a teal,” You suggested, carefully flipping up the top of the coffee pot. It was definitely done, the interior spout sputtering as it ran out of water. You set it aside.

“Like a blue-green? That might be good too,” He grinned as you turned to glance at him over your shoulder, “Is the coffee done?”

“Yeah. It’s really hot though.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure? I swear your mouth must be made of asbestos,” You said. He laughed.

You winced as you picked up the newly filled cup. The ceramic didn’t provide enough insulation to protect you from the searing heat as you gingerly walked it across the kitchen.

The lingering condensation from the steam caused you to lose your grip not six inches away from the intended recipient.

Your hand snapped out to try and catch the cup, freefalling through the air, but you fumbled the motion. You knew the coffee would scald and grimaced, even as he cursed and shoved the chair away from the table.

Instinctively, you stepped forward with him, already reaching backwards for a napkin.

His face was set in a snarl. You saw only a flash of it before the resonant thud of him shoving you away from him. Hard.

Your jaw snapped as your head bounced off the floor. Your shoulder joints screamed. Galloping adrenaline drummed through your chest as you dazedly took in the tiny crack in the ceiling.

Out of the corner of your eye you were aware of him impassively staring down at you; expression empty.

Trying to push and scramble yourself backwards, the strain on your hip brought tears to your eyes as the ligaments pulled and burned.

“That was hot.” He said mildly, examining the coffee that dripped off his lap and onto the floor.

The cup itself lay chipped on the tile beside him.

You couldn’t breathe, the breath knocked from your chest. Still, you pressed yourself into the corner cabinets. Glassy eyes never leaving his figure even as you tried to halt the trembling of your limbs.

A wave of panic fought through the shock.

“W-wha?” The sound expelled through numb lips, barely more than a whimper.

He was dapping a napkin at the dark patch. “Hm?”

You dragged yourself up and over the excruciatingly blunt edge of the counter.

“What the hell?” You tried again, gaining momentum.

You still shook, fingers bloodlessly clenched around the countertop’s rim to support your deadened weight. He blinked at you.

“Goddamn it, Antonio,” Your voice rang with emotion, “What the actual fuck!?”

He looked halfway bewildered as he turned your way, “What’s wrong? You’re okay, no?”

“Who the do you think you are,” You voiced softly, “that you can just- can just look in me in the face-.”

His brow furrowed and his lips tilted upwards in a facsimile of a smile, “I didn’t, _querida_ I didn’t mean it.”

He had abandoned the napkin and ruffled the hair at his nape. He huffed a confused laugh.

Your breath choked you.

“You utter bastard.” The glass bowl that usually held the serving spoons was pitched towards his gut. He stumbled over his chair in his haste to avoid it.

“What are you doing? Stop!” His perplexedly amused looks faded into alarm, “You need to calm down.”

A shrill exclamation of rage and a handful of forks skittered across the floor in his general direction, was your response.

“You hit me!”

“You are making th-“

“How could you? Are you actually expecting me to be okay with this?”

“ _¡Hijo de puta!_ Stop throwing things, please? I liked that vase!” He exclaimed, “Why do you always have to blow things out of proportion?”

“No! How dare you suggest,” A ceramic crock met its end against the unforgiving porcelain. Your aim suffered from the adrenaline-fueled tremors, “that I’m blowing you- you throwing me to the motherfucking floor out of proportion, you twisted, twisted son of a-!”

“You need to calm the fuck down!” He finally bellowed, crossing the small space before you could grab another object. He caught your wrist as you tried, not bothering to be gentle.

With your free hand, you slapped him. And promptly burst into hysterical sobs, as he tightened his grip.


End file.
